Spilled Ink on My Eyelashes
by FinnFiona
Summary: "It gets to so I don't know who's going to say it first, but the parts are interchangeable — we're pretty good at playing both, by now." Damon/Elena, post 2x22. Companion to Circus of Lost Souls.


**Author's Note: Well hello, everyone! I told you I wouldn't be able to resist the pull of the season two finale for long… :) What follows is just a few glimpses into the weeks and months ahead for Damon and Elena, starting immediately after the events of **_**As I Lay Dying**_**.**

**I know this isn't, perhaps, the most original format—but I felt inspired to write in this style, and thought it might be a good way to ease back into things. I'm still thinking about a larger project or two, but I hope this little oneshot will suit until I can (fingers crossed) make that happen. **

**Disclaimer: Wait! Wait..! Oh, well, nope—doesn't seem that I own the Vampire Diaries. Snap. (Nor do I own the lyrics to Lissie's **_**Everywhere I Go**_**… more's the pity.)**

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><p><em>and I fall, on my knees<em>

_tell me how's the way to be_

_tell me how's the way go_

_tell me all that I should know_

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><p>The air hangs heavy with all of the words said and unsaid. I should be on the other side of the bed—in another room—another house. There was space between us for awhile—had to be. But right now I can't be anywhere else but here.<p>

Guilty relief, tomorrow's fears, and foggy exhaustion have taken all of the _shoulds_ out of the world, anyway. The only thing left is to stay with the one other person that understands.

"Don't…" he starts, barely able to keep his eyes open. He's not used to healing so slowly.

"What?" Quiet, so quiet, wrapped up in each other so tight I'm not sure who's holding who anymore.

He swallows hard, looks over at me plaintively. "Don't close your eyes yet."

I'm hardly awake myself, and sleep seems the only escape from everything that's happened today, yesterday, this year… But I nod, which seems to reassure him.

As the last sliver of blue is lost to me, I know that when next his eyes close—be it in sleep brief or everlasting—I'll always be the image he wants to hold onto.

My eyes stay open after all, that night.

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><p>There are a lot of books at first—huge atlases and worn-out maps, too. They all feel like lead in my hands, and I sometimes realize I've spent hours staring at the same line, seeing past the scattering of text to some other fixated or delirious or nonexistent strain of thought.<p>

But Damon always comes along eventually, and turns the page for me.

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><p>Sometimes I think we'll never stop arguing. We're no stranger to harsh truths and the snap of bitter jibes, after all.<p>

Trivial, petty, nonsense, most of it—occasionally something important—but it doesn't really matter. These days, it always ends the same way.

"We'll find him."

"I know."

It gets to so I don't know who's going to say it first, but the parts are interchangeable—we're pretty good at playing both, by now.

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><p>It must be a hundred degrees outside, and the little diner just over the Kentucky border either has a broken air conditioner or never had one at all.<p>

And yet I feel like ice. No, _colder_ than ice, more permanent—a chill, hard cave of emptiness.

When Damon silently takes my hand over the countertop, his skin is cool to the touch.

Still, it's the warmest I've felt in a long time.

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><p>I stare at the tiles in the motel shower, absently tracing the mildew from my feet to the empty soapdish. When I emerge in a cloud of steam, I turn to wipe the mist from the mirror and frown when my fingers brush against an unexpected material.<p>

My thumb slides against the slick paper, slightly warped, and I can't help but smile.

I spend the next fifteen minutes arranging the pictures Damon has brought from my bureau, tucking them carefully into the mirror frame. It's good to see myself reflected back amongst their reassuring faces once again.

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><p>He's sitting above me on top of the blanket, gently stroking the hair away from my temple. I pretend to be asleep.<p>

He pretends not to know it's all an act.

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><p>"<em>What's this, pretty?<em>" the monster is snarling at me—veins roiling, I'd forgotten how threatening they could look. "Your _boyfriend_ sent me, said you tasted _sweet_."

He's just toying with me now, this nameless vampire, another sentry blocking our path. The stake is poised just above his heart, but he's stronger than me and halts my progress in that inch between life and death.

Then Damon is there, and he doesn't pull me away or knock this little minion aside—he only guides my hand to close the distance.

The night holds nary a sound—is _thick_ with the absence of it—as I look at the gray thing now lying motionless before me, the blood on the tips of my fingers.

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><p>We've been on Klaus' trail in one way or another for three and a half months when I realize I haven't dreamt of Stefan in a fortnight or maybe more.<p>

I do dream of him that night, but it's only a nightmare. I can't seem to shake it even after Damon wakes me up.

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><p>Sometimes Damon looks at me with such sadness.<p>

It makes me wonder how Stefan will look at me if—_when_—we ever find him.

And I do want to find him. I _do_.

_We_ do.

And I love him—I shouldn't have to remind myself of that. I shouldn't have to _say_ that, even if the reminder is cloistered deep within my own thoughts.

But what will I see in his eyes, then?

Because even with Damon's sadness I also, sometimes, get that undeniable _spark _of a feeling, and a smile. A genuine smile—not just one of his wicked smirks or cocksure grins.

And on those rarefied days, it doesn't seem so hard to keep on driving.

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><p><em>and I fall on my knees<em>

_tell me how's the way to go_

_tell me how's the way to see_

_show me all that I could be_

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><p><strong>AN: Well there you have it! Just a little something… Depending on what you all think (and what **_**I**_** think of this in the light of morning, for that matter), there's an outside chance for a Damon-perspective companion piece, but otherwise this will remain a oneshot.**

**I hope you'll take a moment to leave a review—hearing your thoughts would truly mean a lot to me!**


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